


Exposed

by frumplebump



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Short, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4802807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumplebump/pseuds/frumplebump
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex and the memory of violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposed

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2005, posted here with minor edits for style only.

This isn’t the first time, but to me it always feels like the first. I still can’t really believe, when I wake up hours later, that I didn’t just create all of this in my mind. You know the way my mind works—you should understand.

But it isn’t a fantasy. That’s why I love it when I lie under you and feel your solid, real weight pressing down on me, trapping me, keeping my soul and my body together. Even my insanity couldn’t invent for me the heat of your breath on the back of my neck as you laugh at the way I try to keep myself from moaning.

And this prickling tension, this anxiety bordering on a fear-driven animosity—that is real, too. I hate it when I lie under you and feel you trapping me, my back exposed, bare to you. This is how I lay when they carved the scars into me, except then my hands were bound, not clenching sheets. When you look down at me defenseless and grip me by the wrists, I remember the ritual, and part of my mind rips away and shrieks with outraged laughter at me. I start to choke on those embarrassing little noises of pleasure you’re coaxing from me.

And then another part of me conjures up that sickening warmth of the blood trickling over my skin, the sensation that still wormed in my brain even when I was numb to the knife. And I feel it again in the sweat on my back, yours and mine, and the tracks of your tongue along my skin, tracing the old scars and the fresh bruises. I imagine that your hand drew that blood from me, and something warm and sharp ricochets up my spine and fills me with tense pleasure.

You have already stolen from me all my control, so I can’t help shuddering, and I can’t help pressing up against you, and I can’t help the tears that roll from my eyes as I try to wrench memory from reality in these shadows you’ve wrapped me up in. I’m not bleeding but I’m hurting and it was you who did it but even though I might hate you I love you, I _love_ you, because you’re above me and in me and only you has ever, could ever make me feel this way—only you could have me face-down and vulnerable and panting with lust, with my insanity and my real self twining and twisting around each other as I climax at the sound of my name on your lips.


End file.
